


Do you feel like a young God?

by Unpopularsoftshipper



Category: Daybreak (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, First Kiss, M/M, Overuse of the words "young god", Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, They meet at a party, Turbo centric, Underage Drinking, Wesley is my absolute favorite he's a baby, i swear a lot so sorry about that, sorry if its OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpopularsoftshipper/pseuds/Unpopularsoftshipper
Summary: The one where Turbo is at a party, reflecting on how boring is his life outside of the football field, and then he ends up holding a pretty boy between his arms while locked in the bathroom.
Relationships: Wesley Fists/Turbo Pokaski | Turbo Bro Jock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	Do you feel like a young God?

Turbo Pokasky believes he’s a young god. Like one, he’s on top and he sets the rules. Like one, he always wins. 

Nobody precisely hates him for his entitlement, his slightly violent outbursts, or how loudly he laughs when Hoyles makes fun of others. Actually, people are too busy hating Hoyles to even remember Turbo exits beyond his football triumphs. Maybe his dad shares those beliefs, that Turbo is another random kid with a privileged life that shouldn’t complain about a single thing because he, unlike many other poor souls, was not only rich and popular but even talented with sports as well. Turbo was football and football was Turbo and any personality trait aside was nothing.

Turbo was going to take his team to success, he and everyone around him knew it already. His life was planned from the moment he threw a ball for the first time and won his first match. Turbo Pokasky had nothing to worry about besides trivial everyday things, because at the end he was going to be scouted by a big university and would major in whatever he wanted. He would get a steady job, a sweet wife, a big country house with walls adorned with pictures of his old teammates and a few trophies thrown around as prideful reminders of his best years. Maybe a kid or two, or three, or four or eight. People as lonely as Turbo Pokasky liked to have kids and family around, big families to make sure they never feel lonely again. He would probably even get a dog, big and fluffy, and then he would die of a heart attack after raising beautiful children who protested over global warming and helped orphans in war zones (just like grandpa). 

Turbo Pokasky believes he’s a young god. Like one, he has the power and the last word. He’s a high schooler, he will become the American dream incarnated ‘cause that’s his fate from the moment he was conceived in an accommodated family with loving parents. Turbo Pokasky is a young god because like one, he has it all, only when he’s young. 

Then, monotony and exhaustion will take over his life and he will be living just because he has to. That’s what everyone predicts.

But, isn’t that what we predict about people in general? That when they are kids, they’ll be learning, and when they are teenagers, they’ll become walking disasters so they can fix their shit in adulthood, have tons of small kids and then die? Without anything else?

What can be so fucking interesting about the young god anyway? Gods were destined to a boring eternity they never asked for, where they could ruin other’s lives and obsess over shit only because they are searching for a thrill. 

As a teenager, the thrill is in playing American football and wiping the floor with every opponent possible. Fighting them physically or verbally or only in the field. Feeling scared, excited, and proud even. 

The thing is, there’s something that makes it impossible for Turbo to fit in the role he was given. He is at a party tonight, he doesn’t dance with anybody, not that he knows how to, neither does he enjoys it, at all. He only drinks small sips from his beer and wonders if this is how high school is supposed to feel.

Out of the football field, out of his empty house, the young god gets bored and drowns in his loneliness. The friends are superficial, they don’t know him as other than the captain and they follow his orders like sheep. Turbo has tried dating before but those girls weren’t willing to get to know him, they wouldn’t start conversation or wonder if Turbo is something else than a fucking one dimensional picture perfect character, so Turbo wasn’t willing to expose himself as who he really is. 

The young god wishes he could live the thrill outside of the field. He doesn’t like thinking if he’s ever going to feel a thrill or a motivation in life once football season is over (for good, in his life, he means). The music in the house is too damn loud, it bothers him. Turbo asks if Hoyles can turn the volume down, but the jerk only shrugs and laughs. How can life even be exciting for pieces of shit like him? Turbo only knew it was unfair.

The thing is, simply, Turbo Pokasky is more complex then the American dream and that’s why he doesn’t fit in it. To begin with, he’s not gonna get a sweet wife or many children or a steady job. He doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t feel excited or afraid to figure it out either. He gets outside of the house, leaving the beer on the table, so the chatter and the melodies can die down with every step towards the backyard. 

Pokasky doesn’t smoke because that stuff fucks up the lungs and athletes need lots of air supply to be fast and give their best. Bodies worked like that, they demanded energy and that demanded oxygen and that meant deep controlled breaths for a good production of ATP. Still, he sits in the grass and takes out a piece of gum instead, just to have something to bite.

Wesley walks out of the house after him. Wesley who’s only been in school for two months but is going to try out for the football team already. Wesley who has never said more than three words to Turbo and doesn’t seem to have many friends in class, but you could always catch him smirking to his phone as if he was living his life far from Glendale. 

He sits next to Turbo Pokasky, aware that he’s too close to a person he knows nothing about but that is just so damn handsome. The buzz got to him, Wesley feels brave tonight.  
Brave enough to start a conversation. Treating the young god as his equal, a stupid teenager full of problems and interrogations. 

“Too loud inside?” he asks, taking out his own cigarette. 

Wesley is purposely focusing on the object in his hand, and the action of turning it on with the lighter. He may be tipsy but he’s still your stereotypical disaster gay and he doesn’t want to look too homo and interested by staring at Turbo all the time, he knows he has dignity even when it becomes blurred lines in his head.

This, this is casual conversation. 

Turbo frowns and puts a hand over Wesley’s lighter. They are too close, if the other smokes, the young god will get his precious lungs messed up. “You shouldn’t do that here”

“We are literally outside, man” Wesley responds, incredulous eyes. 

He has really expressive eyes, a dark brown that compliments his face and skin like two pearls buried in the sand. “Still”

Then it all turns awkwardly quiet. Turbo chews quietly, Wesley fidgets with the cigarette quietly also. Finally, because Wesley Fists can’t stay fucking silent, he speaks up again.

“You an ex-smoker or…?”

“I’ve never smoked in my life, I just won’t start now” Turbo stares. 

Wesley’s face contracts in a gesture of curiosity, maybe even annoyance, however it softens and soon he gives a small smile. 

“You take football too damn seriously” he states, voice surprisingly sweet but lacking of typical admiration.

“Never thought that would be something reproachable”

The smile turns into a smirk, tender. “I’m not calling you out for it, maybe you should just relax”

“Maybe” Turbo begins, his voice has a little of harshness by nature, but it’s not a threat when he says: “Or maybe you should take it more seriously if you want to make the team”

At that, Wesley raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t know captain had the time to spy on the newbie”

“Who said I was spying?”

“How else could you know I’m going to try outs?”

“As captain, when someone talks about the team, I’m always informed.”

“You mean” Wesley starts, leaving Turbo’s eyes for a minute to lower his gaze back to the cigarette still in his hand, he laughs “your minions spy and inform you about every rumor around school”

Turbo Pokasky doesn’t bother to correct the term he used for his… “friends”. Instead, he shrugs “Only if it’s about the team”

Wesley nods. 

Tonight, the young god is bored as always. Lonely, as always. Misunderstood, as he hated to admit (but as always). Turbo is a person to admire, from afar and without knowing his true self, but still to admire. Turbo Pokasky is not used to people like Wesley: frank, open, who talk to him like another normal teen. 

He could stand up, leave and ignore him. Instead, Turbo feels something strong enough to keep him in his seat. 

Wesley Fists is beautiful, easy going. Maybe is just that, a pretty face keeping his attention span, or maybe is the fact that Turbo could be making a friend here. A real one.

Even so, Wesley is the one that resumes the conversation. “Sure you don’t wanna try?” and he shakes the small roll between his fingers. 

“If you can’t breathe well enough, you won’t take as much oxygen as possible while inhaling, meaning a limited quantity of oxygen will get to your cells and they will make also a limited amount of glycolysis, then respiration, producing a limited amount of ATP as well, meaning energy.” Turbo explains, eyes roaming Wesley’s face. He looks so calculating, throwing around random biology facts. 

It should intimidate Wesley. Instead, he smirks wider, realizing Turbo is more entertaining than he initially would have guessed. “All those difficult words only to express how nicotine lowers your performance as an athlete?”

“Not only nicotine” Turbo rolls his eyes, surprising himself because with the roll an easy smile sits in his face. “There’s also phenol, benzo, N-nitrosonornicotine… tons of chemicals related to cancer in the long run, and obviously with short term consequences as well”

“Well, what if I told you this ain’t precisely nicotine, or benzo, or any of that” 

Wesley wiggles his brows, trying to be funny. It only gets Turbo to soften his stare, but that’s already a sign of something good, isn’t it? The young god is entertained. “Then?”

“It’s bubonic chronic, to relax the nerves” Wesley winked.

“Isn’t mixing alcohol and marihuana potentially dangerous?” 

“Then I won’t share, but unlike you I haven’t gotten a sip of alcohol tonight” Wesley lied. 

Turbo was able to see right through the lie, so he took the cigarette out from Wesley’s hand without meeting much resistance. He wouldn’t risk getting Wesley fucked up without knowing first about his potential as a player. 

Wesley laughed, his laughter filling the slim space between their pressed bodies. Knees bumping, shoulders too. “Sorry man, swear to god I’m more put together than this”

Turbo raised a brow.

“You don’t believe me?” Wesley asked, pretending to be indignant even if his lips quirked upwards, betraying his real feelings. “I was one of the two best players in my old school”

“Really?” the young god asks back, appreciating Wesley a little bit more. 

“If it weren’t because the other one is my best friend, I would tell you proudly I was THE best back in Compton” 

“Sadly, I’m the best around here so don’t become a threat, Wesley” 

Turbo shoved Wesley playfully with his elbow, making it obvious that it’s supposed to be a joke. The young god finds it hard sometimes to talk with other people and remember social cues. In high school society everyone thought they had a role, they were supposed to respect or fear Turbo Pokasky if they crossed him, and ignore him the rest of the time. Popular, always popular Turbo, was supposed to not talk to anybody aside from his teammates and other jocks, and look down on everyone else.

Wesley didn’t know he was supposed to be scared. He saw Turbo as a cute sporty guy in a new school and he didn’t know where he’s supposed to fit in the whole dynamic. He’s an athlete, interested in cult films and martial arts classics. He’s also gay, black, so there’s that. But until he receives a group where he’s supposed to fit in, he will do whatever he wants even if it means flirting with the most popular jock in school.

“Can’t promise I won’t” Wesley responds, smiling and shaking his head.

His teeth are bright and his lips are full. He’s a beautiful guy, a beautiful human to devour and sacrifice for the gods. Turbo is aware of how attractive his companion seems to him, how attracted he (for once) feels. He’s really aware of the burning contact between the skin of their elbows bumping and how Wesley wears shorts and is only because of Turbo’s jeans that their legs can’t touch skin to skin. 

“I think is wearing off” Wesley comments.

Turbo only raises his brow again, unspoken question.

“My buzz, I was fucking light headed” 

“Tipsy or drunk?”

“I’m not passed out, am I?” Wesley joked. “Maybe I did drink alcohol, and it gave me more guts than I thought”

That…, that sort of breaks the charm around Wesley. He actually is not as brave as he seemed, is he? He’s only talking to Turbo now, when he has his head in another place and his tongue is all but tied. Maybe Wesley also thinks of Turbo as the American dream, the unapproachable god, and he will never talk to him again until he’s accepted as a jock in Glendale.

Almost as if he had read his mind, Wesley rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? To talk to a drunk. Because it sure as hell doesn’t bother me to talk to Turbo Pokasky, drunk or not. Maybe I just needed a little push. Maybe I knew it so I drank a tiny bit to start a conversation.”

But Turbo can’t find it in himself to get upset. This interaction feels authentic, Wesley Fists feels authentic and exciting, fuck, Turbo can’t even start imagining how many things could cross Wesley’s mind when he was conscious and sober if he was able to hold a conversation as logical as this one being on the way to wasted. 

Wesley Fists is not a young god, he’s just a talkative kid. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much” Turbo suggests, looking at Wesley’s arm for a minute. He could just join their hands, and feel the skin and pulse with his fingertips tracing over Wesley. He doesn’t do it, but a weird feeling of want keeps pulling him to. 

Turbo looks up from the arm, the trail of veins popping slightly, and he finds Wesley following his every movement. Eyes on him without any doubt or dizziness. 

They are this close, fuck. And they are staring at each other. Turbo finally understands what this feeling of need and want means, he wants to kiss Wesley Fists, which is why he won't get a sweet wife or lots of children. And the steady job… well, that was for another discussion.

Wesley chuckles, sudden nervousness tickling his abdomen. He got tipsy to fuck the impulse control and get a kiss from this hot guy, but, but! Actually realizing by the way Turbo stares, as if he’s going to eat him alive, that said hot guy is willing to kiss him back… Well, Wesley never thought this much ahead.

Can’t blame him for being nervous. He is, as stated previously, a gay disaster. (Isn’t every person to some extent a disaster, though?)

However, Wesley doesn’t want to fuck it up. He wants to be friends with Turbo, beyond the pretty face. So, he shakes his head slightly, throwing the anxiousness away and spilling the words before he has time to think of them. 

Voice low, even sultry. Eyes cocky, shiny, hopeful. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m under the impression you may want to kiss me”

Turbo. He just: “You talk too much”

He stands up, heads inside the house. For a minute Wesley’s brain short circuits and he wonders if he was really being dumped and just humiliated himself in front of the football captain who was going to become his captain and watch him during trials. Then “Are you coming or are you really that drunk?” wakes him up, and Wesley (eagerly) stands up as well.

He follows Turbo, and feels himself being pulled inside a room in less than a second. 

As fast as he was able to enter the, with the light finally on, bathroom. Wesley laughs, with Turbo towering slightly over him and smiling a charming smile torn between desire and tenderness. It’s pretty weird, how in just a few minutes the young god can become a normal mortal once again. 

“I really hope all you wanna do is kiss, ‘cause I won’t just suck your dick on the first date”

“We’re not even in a date”

“Too intense?” Wesley wonders, just in case the prospect of going in a date seems too much like screaming commitment considering they just met each other.

But Turbo smiles wider, this time he seems really entertained by the commentary. “No, it’s ok” he reassures. 

And with that, he kisses Wesley. 

His lips are chapped compared to Wesley’s, but the eagerness in the way he moves his still precious mouth makes the kiss something more wet and intense than the chaste thing Wesley expected. Actually, this way is better, because if there was no tongue then definitely the chapped lips would be a no-no in his book.

Now, he gives back with the same passion, opening his mouth and bending his head to the side so it feels deeper. Their tongues meet with care, their lips move slow but determined. Both teenagers are so full of energy, the background music becomes static and as Turbo’s hands find Wesley’s waist, under his shirt, his fingers feel like electricity against the dark skin. But, even with the sparks around them, the attention of both stay in their mouths and what they can feel and do.

Turbo Pokasky is a young god. Today, with gum still between his cheeks and a smart young man between his arms, he feels more human and simple and trivial and all of those things that he always wanted to be than he had ever felt. 

He feels wanted, because a guy really drank and sacrificed his marihuana to get the guts to approach him. He doesn’t feel lonely, because the same guy decided he wanted to talk aloud and create a conversation even if Turbo usually tunes out when it comes to that. He feels thrilled, because the same man is kissing him back and holding to the nape of his neck with calloused fingers product of hard work and small square nails that scrape him like a cat. 

Tonight, Turbo can’t focus on the American dream he’s supposed to be, or the wife he’s supposed to marry or the life he’s supposed to love and expect. Tonight, Turbo Pokasky realizes he is more than that, because he feels more than that one dimensional character feels, and he’s kissing a freaking beautiful teenager like that one dimensional character would never do. Tonight, Turbo Pokasky holds Wesley Fists and wishes he will never leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for the read, hope you enjoyed it! Unfortunately, there are not many works for this couple or this fandom, but I decided to finally publish something about it. English is not my first language, so feel free to correct anything. If you liked it, please leave kudos!


End file.
